


Not Good

by loudscreaming



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Dwarves being complete fishes out of water is amazing, F/F, Mild Language, Salroka this isn't right, Val is in deep shit again, Val is not happy, Warden Inquisitor, Why is there magic on my hand, im bad a titles help, what is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 18:21:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12710400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loudscreaming/pseuds/loudscreaming
Summary: Val somehow ends up in even deeper shit as she walks out of the Fade.





	Not Good

_The cold, uneven stone pressing unevenly into Val Brosca's back brought back memories of a time she would have long since forgotten._

A scowl ghosted over her lips for a moment as she groggily sat up, something clinking around her with every motion. Her ears rang violently, and her head felt like someone had dropped their sword through it, but she was alive. Then, she noticed the chains, and she couldn't help the sardonic laugh that escaped her. Typical - she would wake up in a cell with hardly any memory of what had happened to get her there. 

_Too familiar. Too close. Not good._

She was glaring down at her hands when a flash of green light danced over one. She jumped. That looked a bit too much like the magic she'd seen come flying from the end of Morrigan's staff as the witch worked her curses. But she was a mage, and Val was a dwarf. 

_Not familiar. Alien. Not good._

Before she had time to consider the amount of shit she had somehow managed to land herself in, the door directly in front of her flew open with enough force that she thought it was going to come clean off of it's hinges. She hissed in surprised as a woman, tall and broad-shouldered, stormed toward her. She hadn't a chance to assess the situation when the stranger grabbed her roughly by a bound wrist and pulled her up as if she was a carrot. 

“Tell me why I shouldn’t just kill you now,” she barked, her face too close. Too angry.

 _Not good_.

“The Conclave was destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.”

It was an accusation. Val knew that much. 

She just had no clue what she did to invite it. 

“ _Shit_.”

She couldn't catch the quiet, awed mutter before it left her lips. Her reaction to the whole situation seemed to anger her captor even more, as she jerked the arm she was holding roughly. Her hand flickered green again, seemingly to protest the manhandling, and caught both of their attentions. 

"Explain this," the woman barked, jerking the offending hand side to side in case her captive somehow forgot about her glowing hand. 

The dwarf paused for a moment, the gears in her head turning. She had to say something that wouldn't end with her head rolling about on the floor, but it seemed an impossible task. Even Leliana... well. 

 _Too much. Stressful. Not good_.

“I can’t.”

_Great. What are you, stupid? That's not what to say to the woman with the sword, ass!_

The woman practically threw her backwards in disgust, roaring about her being a liar. One of her feet caught on a loose cobble, and the Hero of Ferelden fell gracelessly to her arse in a prison cell in who-knows-where.

 _At least it wasn’t a long trip_.

The stranger's blade had been pressed to her throat in the time it took for her to recover from her tumble. She could feel the tip pressing into the soft skin of her neck, feel her throat tighten in panic. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and she could almost hear the blood rushing in her veins. But she wouldn't be afraid. Val Brosca had earned her place in this world. It wouldn't be taken away by a self-important stranger who felt the right to dispense justice at her own whims. 

“Cassandra, we need her.”

The voice was female, and so-very-Orlesian.

The voice was quite and feminine, laced in a heavy Orlesian accent. Val and Cassandra's heads both snapped to the source, the latter's blade falling down slightly so the dwarf could actually breath.

She didn't want to hope.

She didn't  _dare_ to hope. 

But when the woman stepped into the subpar lighting, her face was strikingly familiar. Familiar in the good way, that made Val feel warm and safe and worth something. Her heart leapt even further into her throat as she stared at the woman and she stared back at her, recognizing her. She grinned, warm and sincere, even though a sword held by a woman convinced of her guilt was suspended only a few centimeters away from her chest.

 

_Familiar. Warm._

_Good._

**Author's Note:**

> still tryna work out how to write val. this is kind of a test.


End file.
